


Hesitancy

by ClammyHandsCayenne



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/M, Feels, Letters, Light Angst, Love Letters, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25930828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClammyHandsCayenne/pseuds/ClammyHandsCayenne
Summary: Companion piece to Drifting in the Foam. Katara's letter to Zuko.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Kudos: 16





	Hesitancy

Zuko,

It started like this: I think I see you out of the corner of my eye. Even after all this time, it manages to take me by surprise. Most of the time, you’re just standing there. (You always used to walk so quietly, sneaking up on me whether you meant to or not, a trick I always wished you taught me).

When it happens, I’ll be doing something completely ordinary, like washing dishes, climbing into bed, having a conversation, and I’ll see you as if it’s one of those times where you’ve managed to slip behind me, leaning against a counter or a wall or a door frame. I wheel around with a little jump, heart racing, but you’re not there. Of course you’re not there. 

This happens a few times a week, me jumping out of my skin for nothing more than a shadow. (Sokka’s learned to quit asking about it at this point).

Besides, I can shrug it off pretty easily. It’s not so uncommon, after all, for people to be jumpy after a war. 

Other times, when I think I’ve seen you, you’ll be teasing me.

I can almost hear it.

I’ll run into something, or stub my toe, or curse while yanking a brush through tangles, and I’ll hear your taunts for just a moment. You were always so snarky, so sarcastic, so smug when you teased, yet so happy to finally be in a position where you could play. (It felt so natural, I could never really manage to be mad). You had such an ease during those times, and it filled me up with something like contentment. (I couldn’t show that though, because after all, you were making fun of me, so I would smart off at you anyway.) 

This is what I do during those times when I think I’ve just heard your mocking. I’ll whip around with an accusatory finger raised and a comeback right on my tongue, fully intending to put you in your place, but you’re not there. Obviously.

I drop my hand quickly and rush to a mindless task, wiping my hands on a dish towel, brushing away invisible dust, rearranging whatever object is closest- anything to feign normalcy and intent.

These occasions are a little harder to come back from. Just a little harder to convince myself that it wasn’t you, behind me, in my head, talking. It takes longer to convince myself that I’m not crazy and that loss does this to people. I’m not easily convinced; you know this better than anyone, but I usually manage to pull myself out by reasoning the things I hear are old snippets of a previous banter match that I’m mindlessly remembering.

Regardless, I do my best to move past it.

The worst times, however, happen rarely, but they hit me with the force of a tidal wave. They’re not just a matter of seeing or hearing, but _feeling_.

These times, I’ll be cooking, or braiding my hair, or leaning against the ice railing, and I’ll be thinking about nothing in particular, and all of a sudden, you’re right by my ear, a hairbreadth behind me, and you whisper things that you would never say at a normal volume. Do you remember when you would do this? (I wonder if you’d deny it now.)

You didn’t feel the need to talk about things; your looks, your actions, your subtleties always told me more anyway. We understood each other.

But there were times when you seemed to be overcome with something, when you would look at me and get overwhelmed. (That’s what I always thought, anyway, and when I voiced it in a fit of bravery, you didn’t correct me).

When you felt it, only then would you tell me things.

You would have to get close, so close to me, like you were trying to create our own echo chamber because some things are too delicate to be said across a dinner table or on opposite ends of your bedroom. You’d say things that were sweet, or affectionate, or so gut-wrenchingly personal, I’d feel the need to lean back against you for support.

So that is what I do, almost automatically, when I think you’re there, when I can feel my skin prickle at your proximity like it used to. I sway backwards, just a little, in a vain attempt to anchor myself, and for a moment, I swear I feel your warmth.

Ultimately, I meet nothing but air. You’re not there. ( _Of course, obviously, definitely not there_ ). I have to scramble to regain my balance, pinwheeling until I snap back into my tempered reality.

Like I said, these times are the worst.

They break my resolve to be better all over again. You’re not there.

 _Of course. Obviously. Definitely._ I have to say words like that over and over again.

I have to use absolutes because I crackle with an energy during those times, and it frightens me. (I often wonder if I healed you from the lightning or just siphoned it into myself).

This energy touches me from blood cells to hair fibers, and it fills me with a need to rip something up. (I’ve yet to figure out if that something is along the lines of the village I live in or the twisting guts of my insides.)

I have to use absolutes because there is a deceptive voice that whispers; _I felt you, where were you, where are you, where did you go, why did you let me leave because you were there, right there, so close_. I have to use absolutes so that I can silence that voice, clamp down on that energy. Loss shouldn’t manifest into ghosts that whisper sweet nothings.

(Of course. Obviously. Definitely.)

It’s embarrassing, really, walking around with your shadow following me. It’s a weakness, and I am _not_ weak. There are things to be done, steps to figure out, rules to rewrite, towns to rebuild, relationships to mend, and I must train myself to think of other things- practical things, useful things, helpful things. (I need to shake out the thoughts of you.) I cannot keep staring across the icy oceans as if my will alone will bring us closer.

When I stare hard enough, the energy within me flickers with kinetic potential. (I’m crackling again.) It’s winter, and I think it’s lucky that my tundra does not allow for lightning. I think if it did, I’d shoot sparks without stopping.

I bet you’re frowning at that, but what can I say for myself?

I miss you.

Katara


End file.
